I'll tell you a far-fetched tale of Franny Frieloch,
that little Aussie bundle of fun from the
Australian city of Melbourne.

Her father, a German immigrant and inventor,
achieved fame for his self-inflating pillow,
used by gold prospectors in the Australian
bush, not to mention self-raising grass
fed with ant urine, to feed sheep in times of drought.

However, at the outbreak of war his family, 
due to their German roots, were much abused.

Enraged at this, feisty Franny got into many a fight, 
but despite publicly condemning the warlike Kaiser,
Frieloch senior no longer received support for 
his inventory patents.

So in 1915 she left Oz, seeking a career 
on the English stage, hoping she'd make 
enough to send money back to her parents.

Wondering what lay ahead, she waved them goodbye, 
outbound for Liverpool on a ship crammed with troops. 

Grateful for a cabin berth, she sang for the 
young men off to fight in some place 
called the Dardanelles, only for the ship to 
be torpedoed by the Hun.

Clinging to wreckage, Franny gave 
vent to her favourite hymn, Abide With Me, 
her beautiful voice attracting a flock of gulls, 
which alerted midshipman Fred Freckwish, 
a lookout of her Majesty’s ship Rosefruit, 
which steamed to her rescue.

The grateful survivor showered the embarrassed 
seaman with kisses, making him the envy of the crew.

A follower of the Methodist movement established 
to convert the drink-addled poor to sobriety, 
he was the butt of the sailors’ jokes, 
due to his refusal to drink that seaman’s 
favourite tipple, rum, so naturally Franny warmed to him.

But to her dismay young Fred fell in love,
promising to care for her ‘until his dying day,’
declaring, ‘Oh Miss Fran, you’ve lost all
your possessions, and are now penniless.’

She wondered, ‘How do I get out of this?’

Then a tactful naval captain suggested,
‘Tell him you’re too young to marry, and like your beer too much,
but offer to stage a benefit concert for the navy.’

During the show she sang, ‘She was only a
poor laundry girl from Fanning Falls,
but when Dusty Dan got quite frisky,
after too much whisky, she refused to wash his smalls.’

Watching was theatrical manager, Mickey McElburtin,
who believed he could use Franny on the music hall,
those unique entertainment venues which
catered for working-class folk,
assuring her she’d feel at home, among a cursing
crowd who loved a naughty lyric,
while the more genteel would appreciate
her rendition of Quando m’en vo, from La Boheme.

So he promptly engaged her in his travelling theatrical troupe,
but not before insisting, ‘Please, no cursing’!

To which entreaty she objected, ‘But all those sailors and
soldiers who rescued me swore,
and their public-school educated officers.’

‘Yes, but us theatricals are snobs,
and only eff and blind behind closed doors.’

Then one night she sang Take me Home Again Kathleen.
Soaking up the applause, she caught the eye of Malachi,
a newly-recruited soldier of the Queen,
who loved her rendition of an Irish classic.

He whirled her around at the town hall dance,
declaring, ‘You have a neat step for a girl from the Outback,
but unlike other Aussies I’ve met, you don’t curse.’

‘I will if you let me breathe, you lovely Irishman,’
she whispered, ‘for you have a tight embrace.’

Unknown to them, they were watched
by that eagle-eyed lookout, Sam, on leave from his ship,
desperate to again plight his troth.

Anxious not to offend the man to whom she owed her life,
she introduced the sailor to Beatrice Bilky-Bogswith,
the theatrical troupe’s resident contortionist.

She could assume any shape, from a
straight-as-a-stick sentry – and often did,
amusing soldiers in Catterick and Aldershot – to a somnambulant South American sloth.

Like Sam, She was a devout methodist,
so proceeded to seduce the bemused chap,
enabling Franny to steal away to a bench by the Thames,
where Malachi gave vent to his feelings and romantic dreams.

He revealed that he was no ordinary soldier,
but one of Britain’s best spies,
and learning of her father’s inventive talents,
suggested they be used to fight the enemy.

At first his superiors, after criticising his liaison
with a German-born woman,
described his proposal to use her father’s
inventive skills as ‘absurd’.

‘Besides,’ raged Brigadier Hemponsworth,
‘the fellow’s a Hun!’

However, desperate to gain an edge over the Axis forces,
Franny’s father was duly brought to England,
courtesy of the Royal Navy, cleverly avoiding a stalking submarine.

Bemused by the swift turn of events, his wife Elke assured him,
‘It’s better than being spat at in Oz, and besides,
we’ll be nearer to Franny.’

Frieloch senior invented camouflage for a new fighting machine,
allowing it to meld into the countryside covered in straw,
or dig a hole in the mud to lie unobserved.

His efforts were much appreciated in the corridors of Whitehall,
but then came Dublin’s Easter Rising.

After the execution of the leaders, his son-in-law Malachi declared his sympathy for the cause of Irish independence,
and so was threatened with court martial,
his behaviour regarded as treason in time of war.

While Mr Frioch, seeing his daughter’s distress
at her husband’s plight,
invented an underwater sea vessel.

Soon he, Elke, Franny and Malachi were sailing away.
At the mercy of Atlantic storms they desperately
sought a hideaway, and about to give up hope,
were saved when midshipman Fred Freckwish
appeared as if from nowhere, explaining he’d
hidden behind his wife, Beatrice, the contortionist
who’d assumed the shape of a pile of rope.

He alerted the runaways to their presence by crying out,
'Shift your ass, Sam, I’ve got cramp!’

But her hubbie’s eagle eyes spotted a remote island.

However, this was a time of rebellion,
and the islanders proved aggressive,
situated as they were off the coast of Ireland.

​​​​​​​​However, they were kept at bay by Mr Frioch’s
use of his latest invention, an inflatable leather jockstrap,
ideal for hurling pebbles.

The natives laughed at this fit to burst,
especially when introduced to an Australian who wouldn’t curse.

The escapers felt safe from pursuit in this remote place,
as the Army top brass assumed their
intelligence agent had gone to join the rebels.

Many years later, people on an Aran island still talk
of that sober Englishman Fred, who could spot dolphins
and porpoises far out at sea, and, with his wife the contortionist,
had established Freckwish’s Marine
Creatures Sea-Watching Tour Company.

They put up with the sober couple’s disapproval
of their drunkenness, much to the amusement of Malachi,
mother and father Frioch, and their daughter Franny,
that little Aussie who sailed away from prejudice,
to begin this remarkable story.

You’ll still find her in O’Malley’s bar,
singing Take me Home Again Kathleen,
accompanied by her husband Malachi on piano.

But she’ll occasionally sing a music hall song,
such as, ‘I went to a summer ball, hoping to find a rich man.
But I got drunk and tripped over my dress,
my corset fell apart,
and all the posh women laughed at my distress.

‘But I rubbed their noses in it,
when would-be husband, young Lord McStickit,
declaring I had a great figure,
took me away on a horse and cart,
and promised to love me forever.’